


with you, words have color

by Nessie (BnessZ)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Bo is done for, Boys In Love, Fluff, Gen, Idiots in Love, Keiji is a gaysaster, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Photography, Pining, Tattoos, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Writer!Bokuto, artist!akaashi, owls in love, they are so smitten
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-05-25 09:37:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14974385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BnessZ/pseuds/Nessie
Summary: "As the seasons pass, so do affections grow."Bokuto Koutarou captures this worlds beautyAkaashi Keiji creates otherworldy beautyOnly together can they complete a true masterpiece***DISCONTINUED***





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Bee, who has been with me since this concept was first born. Thank you so much for everything!<3
> 
> This is my attempt at fluff, hope you enjoy it!

_Early March_

 

Koutarou is done for.

 

For weeks, Kuroo has been talking about an old friend of his. Apparently, they met at college when Koutarou was studying abroad, but moved to different cities. They hadn't seen each other in a few years, but Kuroo recently ran into him at a coffee stand.

 

“He's so cool, Bo! He's scary though, very quiet with a dry humor. His face is gorgeous but very uninviting. But he just moved into town and agreed to do my next tattoo for me!”

 

“How come I never met him?”

 

“He ended up transferring schools before you came back. But bro, trust me, you'd love him.”

 

Koutarou honestly felt a little jealous, though he knew he shouldn't. It was hard to imagine Kuroo hanging out with someone all the time in his absence. But everyday, Kuroo had given up more information about this artist.

 

So far, Koutarou has a small list started: he majored in art, is smart and beautiful but cold, sarcastic and smirks more than Kuroo (which Koutarou has a hard time believing), pretty quiet, used to play volleyball, and is a year younger.

 

Koutarou was thinking that he kind of sounds like an asshole but also very much wants to meet him.

 

Which leads him to now.

 

They walk into the tattoo parlor. It's rather small, only two stations, nothing special, but full of aesthetic that has Koutarou itching for his camera. Plants are settled in every corner, a vase of lillies on the front counter. Paintings line the walls, varying in colors and realism. Wooden owls sit nestled on bookshelves that are lined with art portfolios and classic literature. It's the most clean tattoo shop he's seen, which is impressive considering their standards, and soft music plays overheard.

 

And that's when a man walks up, catches his gaze and Koutarou feels his heart light up.

 

For once in his life, words fail him completely as the man greets him. All Koutarou can think about are the stormy blue eyes and the soft, pale face and the small pink lips and swirls of ink on collarbone that disappear beneath a collared shirt and sleeves rolled up to elbows on lean but toned arms and--

 

He thinks he mumbles out a reply but the raised brows have him unsure.

 

Yep, completely, one hundred percent, done for.

 

The man turns away. “Ah, Kuroo, you're early,. Your appointment isn't for twenty more minutes. I suppose there's a first for everything.”

 

“I was excited! Like you very clearly aren't.”

 

The man's lips twitch upwards. “I honestly wasn't expecting you to show for another hour.”

 

“Oh, ha-ha.” Kuroo rolls his eyes before grinning widely and gesturing at Koutarou. “Akaashi, this Bokuto, my best bro I've mentioned. Bo, this is Akaashi.”

 

Those eyes are on him again and Koutarou fumbles a bit before extending his hand. “Very nice to meet you!”

 

“Likewise, Bokuto-san.”

 

Akaashi is just pulling away from the handshake when something catches Koutarou's eye. He gently grabs Akaashi's fingers, turning his hand over in his palm. A small, geometric owl rests on Akaashi's wrist and Koutarou traces it with his finger.  

   

“Oh, wow, how pretty. I love owls!”

 

“I do, too,” Akaashi's voice is quiet velvet. He clears his throat, slowly pulling his hand away. “I just need to prep my bench, Kuroo, so I'll have you fill out the forms.”

 

Koutarou watches Akaashi walk to his station, steps smooth and effortless. Akaashi is lean with long limbs, long fingers and a graceful air to him. When he turns, Koutarou’s eyes flicker down his backside, the swaying hips, the--

 

“Bro!”

 

Startling, Koutarou turns his head to Kuroo. “Sorry, what?”

 

Kuroo's eyes narrow slightly, glancing at Akaashi, before a smirk begins to grow on his lips. Whatever he had been about to say dies on his tongue. He faces Koutarou head on, elbow on the counter, cheek in hand. His legs cross, casual but very patronizing. “Like what you see?”

 

Heat creeps up his neck, but he stands his ground. “Yes,” he says, working to keep his voice level. “I was just about to get a closer look at the paintings, so don't mind me.”

A bark of a laugh escapes Kuroo. “Yeah, right, sure, bro.”

 

Koutarou throws him a scowl before turning away. His eyes scan over various art pieces: there's a wave crashing into the sand as a girl takes a picture from a cliff, plants, some abstract shapes and splotches he doesn't understand, and an owl in black and white close up that is so realistic, Koutarou feels the eyes follow him.

 

One painting particular catches his eye across the room. Before going to it, he notices Kuroo settle in the chair. “Hey,” Koutarou clasps his shoulder. “You ready?”

 

“Please,” an eye roll accompanied with an easy grin. “I have three tattoos already. This is nothing.”

 

“Stop trying to be brave, Kuroo,” Keiji says. “Rib tattoos hurt and you're not as badass as you'd like to think.”

 

Koutarou throws his head back and laughs when Kuroo's face screws up.

 

“Shut up, Akaashi!”

 

“I'm only pointing out facts.”

 

“I'll have you know that I'm very badass.”

 

“Well, you are an ass.”

 

“Akaashi!”

 

“Dude,” Koutarou manages, chuckling. “He's so right.”

 

Kuroo groans. “Gee, thanks, Bo. What a great friend you are.”

 

“Aw, c’mon, Tetsu. I'll hold your hand.”

 

A puff of air passes Akaashi's lips and, when Koutarou looks over, a grin sits on his face. It's small and closed but Koutarou feels something pull in his gut.

 

“I hate both of you. Can we get this over with already?”

 

Akaashi raises a brow, removing the sketch paper from Kuroo's ribs. “I thought you were excited.”

 

Kuroo huffs. “Not when you two are ganging up on me.”

 

The grin morphs into a smirk. “Take a look and let me know if it's okay.”

 

Five minutes of Kuroo and Akaashi discussing specifics pass before Kuroo is back in the chair, taking a deep breath.

 

Koutarou watches as Akaashi finishes prepping the skin before bringing a needle to it. The buzzing sound fills the shop and Kuroo’s face flinches slightly, causing Koutarou to choke back a laugh. Tattoos are something he has considered getting, but never had. The look on Kuroo's face explains why.

 

He shifts his gaze to Akaashi. The steely eyes are focused but gleaming. Lips are in a thin line, and every now and then, the tip of his tongue pops out. Long, thick eyelashes blink only when the needle is pulled away. His fingers are still on the instrument, flat on skin. As time passes, a little grin starts pulling on his lips and that, mixed with the unfaltering focus, has Koutarou entranced.

 

It isn't until Kuroo hisses a curse, fingers digging into Koutarou’s arm, that he looks away.

 

“You okay, Tetsu?”

 

“Peachy,” he says through clenched teeth.”Tell me-- _shit, Akaashi, are you a sadist--_ tell me a story, Bo.”

 

A snort escapes Akaashi as Koutarou lifts a brow. “A story?”

 

“Yeah, to distract from the pain.”

 

“Ah, okay, sure.”

 

He tries to ignore the quick look from Akaashi as he starts speaking.

 

Koutarou tells them of a young man who can jump high. He has few other talents beyond his sunny disposition, standing heads shorter than everyone else. And all he wants, all he strives for, is to be the best at everything he tries. He wants success even when he can't reach it on his toes. Most people underestimate him, scoff at his big dreams, but jumping has its perks. Afterall, if one can't fly, they must find another way to the top.

 

But he can't do it alone; when he falls, he needs help getting back up. He searches for others to help him, for a team, for friends. He stumbles upon them one day, a mess of a group who mesh together in a dissonant way. When he tells them his plans, there is no judgement. They smile and wish him luck. They become akin to family, like puzzle pieces that will never fit _quite right_ but still create a masterpiece. Each member has a dream, something farfetched and surreal, but they support each other. They become pillars, holding up the sky that they can now reach.

 

Koutarou stops talking at the same moment the needle turns off. The sudden quiet in the parlor has him feeling trapped and he stands without realizing it, fingers tapping on his thighs. “Uh, yeah, that's... that's all I got for that one.”

 

Akaashi blinks at him. “What are you, a poet?”

 

Kuroo laughs, his ugly, excitable cackle. “Yes, he is. I told you that.”

 

A tinge of pink dusts Akaashi's cheeks as he turns to set the tool down. “Right. It's just the way you told that story was…” He struggles for a moment, before sighing and settling with, “poetic. I quite liked it.”

   

“Oh.” Koutarou feels a surge in his gut, a warmth on the tip of his ears. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unable to fight a growing grin. “Thanks!”

 

Akaashi hums, turning back to Kuroo. “It's done.”

 

Wincing, Kuroo pushes himself up. He walks over to a mirror and all but freezes when he looks at it, jaw slack. Koutarou can't blame him. The entire left side of his body is taken over by beautiful inking. It's a cat, black and sitting tall, with wings coming from its back. It looks straight forward, challenging, one paw slightly raised.

 

“Do you like it?” Akaashi asks after a long while. His voice is passive, but there's a slight twitch to his lips.

 

“Do I like it?” Kuroo's voice is booming, raising in pitch. “Dude, this is _amazing!_ Thank you!” He barrels into Akaashi, who seems to be fighting another grin and loosely returns the embrace.

 

“Bro!” Kuroo pulls away, moving his head to make eye contact with Koutarou. “What do you think?”

 

“I love it!” He walks over, claps on hand on his friends shoulder. “It suits you.”

 

The two start talking about price, taking pictures, things Koutarou isn't keen on listening to. So, instead of staring at Akaashi more, he finally makes his way to the painting on the far wall.

 

It's golden, an orb with beams of light coming off of it. The light is perched above an arching expanse of green, almost covered by it. The background is orange and yellow, bits of dark blue at the top.

 

It's the most gorgeous piece of art Koutarou has seen (well, except maybe that owl) and he's hit with a wave of nostalgia.

 

“Bokuto-san?”

 

Koutarou puts a hand on his chin, cocks his head to the side. “Do you know who painted this?”

 

“I did.” Koutarou turns, eyes wide. Akaashi is gazing at his work, the corner of his mouth tilted up ever so slightly. “I follow a writer on Instagram and one day he posted the most breathtaking sunset I have ever seen with a poem called--”

   

“ ‘Golden Evening’,” Koutarou finishes. This time, Akaashi looks to him, eyes a little too big to be neutral, lips beginning to part. “You follow me on Instagram?”

 

“That--you--” Akaashi sputters, pink dancing along his cheekbones. “Wait. Bokuto… Bokuto _Koutarou_?”

 

Koutarou grins widely. “That's me!”

 

He thinks he hears Akaashi mutter an _oh my god_ but the younger man regains his composure in an instant. “Your photographs and writing are incredible, Bokuto-san.”

 

Koutarou bounces on his toes, scratches the back of his neck. “Ah, thanks, 'Kaashi!” If the artist is troubled by the informal address, he doesn't show it, just offers a small grin. “I'm honored you painted this. It's beautiful!”

 

Shifting his weight, Akaashi starts fiddling with his fingers. He twists them in each other, pulling at them. When he looks at Koutarou, his eyes are gleaming. “I find the way you can piece words together very inspiring and admirable, Bokuto-san. I've never been terribly good with them myself.”

 

Koutarou's brain all but short circuits at the compliment, gaze glued to the ever gradual upturning of lips. He can't quite figure out how the man in front of him, the one who is a walking piece of art, can find him fascinating. “Yeah, but who needs words when you can create life with your bare hands out of nothing.”

 

At this, Akaashi smiles fully, teeth showing, and Koutarou almost doesn't catch his next words, “Are you not doing the same thing?”

 

If Koutarou truly weren't done for before, now he most certainly is. A warm feeling settles into his bones and he doesn't even care that his face is burning red. There's a tingling in Koutarou's fingertips as he spreads his grin wider. “I guess you're right!”

 

Akaashi opens his mouth as if to say something, but Kuroo bumps into Koutarou’s shoulder at that moment. “If you’re done flirting, Tooru is waiting for us.”

 

Koutarou’s mouth hangs open, gaping like a fish, but Akaashi simply sighs and turns to Kuroo. “We weren’t flirting. It’s called an adult conversation.”

 

A shit eating grin finds its way onto Kuroo’s face as he tugs Koutarou away. “Right. See you later, Akaashi, thanks again!”

 

“Bye, Kuroo. Nice meeting you, Bokuto-san.”

 

Koutarou has always been a man of many words, they dance along his tongue and fingertips all day, but now, looking at the soft expression on Akaashi’s face, his throat runs dry and all he can manage is, “Uh, yeah, right!”

 

Kuroo barks out laughter as the door chime sounds behind them.

 

*

 

“Tetsu~!” A figure launches itself at Kuroo, immediately planting kisses all over his face. “How dare you make me wait; I almost thought you weren’t coming.”

 

The laugh Kuroo gives is one reserved for Oikawa, one that is light and breathy, bouncing on air, and it creases the corners of his eyes. “Sorry, I got stuck watching lovestruck idiots.”

 

“Oh?” Oikawa pulls away, puts his face between Koutarou and his phone. “Kou-kun, are you in love?”

 

Heat trickles across his face and Koutarou sighs, shooting a look at his best friend. “I am not lovestruck.”

 

“Oh, please, Bo, you are totally smitten.”

 

Before he can respond, his phone is snatched from his hands. “Oh, it’s Aka-chan!” Oikawa’s fingers move over the screen and Koutarou reaches for it. “But this is his work page, that won’t do. Let me help you out.”

 

“Tooru--”

 

“Trust him, Bo.”

 

“I will never trust him.”

 

“Rude, Kou-kun.”  He turns the phone back to Koutarou, looking at him with a cheeky grin. “You’re welcome.”

 

When Koutarou looks at his screen, he freezes. Kuroo looks over his shoulder and lets out a laugh. “Nice going, babe!”

 

“Tooru, what the fuck?”

 

Koutarou stares at the screen, wondering if it's worth sending a _sorry, my friend stole my phone_ message. The direct messages are open, Akaashi's personal profile pulled up, and there sits lovestruck Kermit the frog, the words “thinking of you” following it.

 

Koutarou feels a part of him die.

   

“I'm just helping, Kou-kun.”

 

Kuroo is still laughing, bracing himself on Oikawa's shoulder. Neither one seems bothered by Koutarou's glare, or the way his mouth is trying unsuccessfully to form words.

 

“Bro,” Kuroo breathes. “At least Akaashi will know you're thinking about him now.”

 

The sentence only serves to make Oikawa break out into a fit of giggles, Koutarou slumping. “I hate both of you,” he decides. “You two are literally the worst.”

 

“Such beautiful words, Writer-san,” Kuroo says.

 

“I seriously need new friends.”

 

The two laugh at him, drawing the attention of everyone who passes by, and Koutarou sighs. He casts one more look at his phone before steering the couple to food.

 

*

 

Koutarou walks in his door, flushed and breathless from his morning run.

 

Letting out a deep breath, he goes for his chilled water bottle, grabbing his phone from the counter. He has a couple notifications, but one almost causes him to choke. It's from Instagram. More specifically, from one Akaashi Keiji.

 

He stares at it for ten minutes before swallowing harshly and opening the message.

 

A heart made from Kermits greets him. Koutarou stares, locks his phone, looks at the ceiling, just to be sure. But when he opens it back up, it's still Kermit. A startled laugh escapes him. This can't be from the same Akaashi he met earlier, there's no way. Though, he knows without a doubt that it is the artist, having spent far too much time on his page already (Including a frantic “ _Tetsu, who is that blonde man with him? He refers to him by first name. Oh, gods, I have no chance, do I?” “Bro, that’s just Konoha. They’ve been friends forever. He owns the tattoo parlor. Chill.”_ ).

 

His thumbs are hovering over the screen when a new message appears:

From: AkaKei

I apologize for that. My friend thinks he's funny.

 

Something akin to relief floods through him. He types back quickly:

 

To: AkaKei

No worries! My ass of a friend did it beforehand, too, as I'm sure you noticed.

 

He hits send, hesitates two minutes before adding:

 

To: AkaKei

But anyways, how are you? Have you done any interesting tattoos today?

 

Telling himself that it doesn't matter if Akaashi responds or not, Koutarou sets his phone back down, and starts digging through his fridge. He makes himself omelets full of vegetables and ham, glancing at his phone every minute and a half. The nervous energy has him bouncing on his toes, humming a bit louder than usual. Koutarou scrolls through media platforms as he eats, straying to Akaashi's page more than once. The man is so gorgeous, Koutarou doesn't think he'll ever be able to stop looking.

 

He sighs, once again setting the device down, and gets up to clean the dishes. It takes every inch of his self control to not check it on his way to the shower. It's when he's making his way to the front door, fiddling with his tie, that he hears it buzz. Butterflies swarm Koutarou's entire body as he reaches and unlocks it, ignoring Kuroo's texts for the Instagram messages.

 

From: AkaKei

I was sort of hoping that wasn't you.

Not the message itself.

Just the meme, I mean.

I'm good. Stayed up too late.

The parlor hasn't opened yet, but I have a couple appointments. I can send you the finished tattoos later, if you want.

How are you?

 

It's a tricky question, really, since he's currently buzzing with excitement and anxiety. He types out multiple responses, ranging from _I'm just peachy!_ to _better now that you answered_ , adds owl pictures, deletes it all and stares the screen. The clock tells him that he needs to leave before he's late for work, so Koutarou puts his shoes on with one hand, planning out his response.

 

Leaving his apartment, he finally types something out and hits send before he can second guess himself.

 

To: AkaKei

Yeah i was going to message you but not with Kermit. Never with Kermit

You shouldn't do that, rest is good for you!

PLEASE send me the finished products!! I'd love to see more of your art

I'm great, about to teach young minds the beauty of words!

 

*

  _Late March  
_

 

Days pass, Koutarou's phone constantly full of beautiful, intacrite tattoos.

 

Every notification from Akaashi has him smiling and bouncing. The messages are mostly ink and anecdotes of his day, but every now and then, Akaashi sends him a painting, random posts he finds funny, even a few pictures that _seem like something you would write about_. Those are his favorite and his heart feels light.

 

In turn, Koutarou sends snippets of his writing, stories of his students, and anything related to owls he can find.

 

He can feel Kuroo's smirk across the table when his phone buzzes again. Fingers itching to grab it, he meets his friend's gaze, huffing out a sigh. “Shut up, Tetsu.” They sit at their weekly lunch, same restaurant and table as always. It’s a nice constant in the ever changing world.

 

“I didn't say anything,” he puts his hands up, but his mouth is upturned crookedly, almost sinister. “You gonna answer that?”

 

Koutarou scowls. “I wouldn't want to be impolite and text at the table.”

 

“Oh, please, as if you have any manners.”

 

“Rude!”

 

“Am I wrong?”

 

“No,” He mumbles, and grabs his phone. “But it’s still rude.”

 

From: AkaKei

Well, I woke up and my face was covered in paint, so there’s that.

Aki gave me today and tomorrow off, so I plan to get this piece done. I think that you’ll really like it.

Where do you go for your field trips?

   

Koutarou backs up briefly to check Akaashi’s posts. His breath catches when he finds a selfie: Akaashi’s mouth in a straight line, curly hair even more mussed than usual, eyes blurry and half closed and splotches of color are smeared down the right side of his face. The caption simply reads: _This is how artists sleep._

 

Something pulls in Koutarou’s gut. He double taps the picture, _completely done for_ , before typing out his reply.

 

To: AkaKei

Paint looks good on you but you seriously need to fix your sleep schedule, hahaha.

I can't wait to see it!!!

I take them to different places. Today will be to a wooded area, focus on macro photography, so expect a lot of pictures later!

 

He attaches a happy owl before setting the phone down, slowly bringing his eyes to Kuroo's smug face. “Shut up, Tetsu.”

 

A cackle falls from his lips. “I still haven't said anything.”

 

“I can hear it on your face.”

 

“I just haven't seen you like this in a long time.”

   

“Yeah, yeah, but Akaashi is just--” Koutarou runs a hand down his face, lets out a groan. “I can't believe you never told me about him before.”

 

Kuroo raises a single brow. “I talked about him plenty after you got back.”

 

Implications are loaded in that one sentence and Koutarou looks away. Studying abroad had done him a lot of good, but with it came a lot of emotions, and that caused some of his worst mood swings to date. Of course he didn’t remember Kuroo talking about Akaashi; there’s a whole two weeks he can’t recall from then, a whole two weeks full of self pity and pushing everyone away from him.

 

Kuroo clears his throat. “Anyways, Bo, it’s good to see you this excited, really. I knew you’d like Akaashi.”

 

He takes the out and turns back to his friend. “Yeah, well, he’s way out of my league, so…”

 

“Bro,” Kuroo leans forward, grabbing one of Koutarou’s hands. “No one is ever too good for you. _You’re_ too good for this world.”

“Bro.”

 

“Bro.”

 

Their usual waitress comes to the table and smiles fondly at them before taking their order.

 

*

 

“Alright, kiddos,” Koutarou says, standing at the edge of the treeline. “Today is for macro photography, so no cliche ‘welcome to the forest’ shots of looming trees. Focus in on something in such a way that the viewer has to think about what it is, what it could be. The beauty of being on this side of the lense is the ability to warp reality. Find something ordinary and make it special, _unique,_ in a way only you can.”

 

Most of the students stare at Koutarou blankly. The class is a beginning photography one, so he tries to not let it get to him that most of them are not terribly excited for it. There are two that have gleaming eyes, bouncing on their toes, cradling their cameras, and it makes Koutarou light. They give him euphoric smiles before scurrying off with their classmates.

 

Koutarou mills around, observing his students, answering questions. He takes a few photographs himself--of a knot in a tree, pattern on a butterfly wing, the veins in a leaf--but when the sun reflects into his eyes, he's drawn to a clearing. The voices of his students sound around him, but none have found this spot yet.

 

Koutarou's breath catches. A small waterfall flows over a short stack of rocks, dribbling into a small pond below. Spots of sunlight break through the trees, glinting on the water. Across the way, a single dove sits, pecking at the shimmering surface. Sprays from the fall sparkle like mini rainbows, landing on the wings of the bird, who ruffles slightly in response.

 

It’s a sight so natural in its beautiful that Koutarou is raising the camera to his face before he realizes it. He kneels down, and sets the frame to capture the bird, pond, and fall under one beam of light. He takes a few more, changing the angle or zoom, so he can compare them later.

 

A smile is spread on his face at the peaceful beauty and Koutarou cannot stop himself from creeping closer, pulling out his phone. He gets just close enough, not daring to even breathe, to take a shot. When he snaps it, the dove peering at the water, a breeze lightly rusting the grass, an orange blur of a koi pops up beneath the surface.

 

Koutarou is transfixed by the photograph he has and there is no hesitation as he pulls up Instagram, clicking on his direct messages with Akaashi. The artist hasn't replied yet, probably in an appointment, but Koutarou still attaches the image, with a simple “to inspire your brush.”

 

*

  _Mid April  
_

 

“Bo, hurry up!”

 

“Yeah, yeah, one sec!” Koutarou’s tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth as he positions his camera. The blooming sakura trees, decorations, scurrying animals, and squealing children is simply too good for him to pass up. So far, the camera has not left his face; he is seeing everything through the frame.

   

“ _Bo!”_

 

He huffs. Kuroo turning around ruined the shot he just lined up. “Just keep going!” Kuroo sighs but turns and Koutarou gives them a few steps before pressing down on the button. Smiling, he pulls the camera away, looking at the picture. Oikawa had just turned to say something to his boyfriend, a cheeky grin on his face, their fingers laced together, strolling between fluttering pink, sharp against blue skies. Kuroo’s face is soft, just barely meeting Oikawa’s gaze.

 

Part one of their anniversary present, done.

 

He catches up with them just as they turn onto the grass. “Kou-kun, so slow.”

 

“I’m a photographer at a festival.” He rolls his eyes, pulling his camera closer to his chest. “What do you expect?”

 

The couple scoffs in time, releasing each other to pull him between them, arms thrown over his shoulders. “We got you a surprise!” Oikawa sings.

 

“Oh, gods, please tell me it isn’t another cookie experiment. Those zucchini jalapeno ones were _awful_.”

 

“First of all, they were delicious, you just have bad taste, Kou-kun.”

 

“Second of all, bro, just trust me and look.”

 

When Kuroo says the words “just trust me”, it sends apprehension through Koutarou’s being. Far too many disasters have begun with that sentiment. He’s about to say so, but when he looks in front of him, everything stops. Arms fall away from him and he can hear the owners sniggering, but he’s too enthralled to care.

 

Leaning on the tree in front of them is none other than Akaashi Keiji, wearing blue cuffed skinny jeans and a loose fitted quarter sleeve white shirt, both covered in splotches of paint. His black hair is curlier than usual, like he's been running hands through it all day. A black bag sits across his chest. Something in him longs to capture this moment, to see it through the lens and never let it go, but he’s too shocked to move. When Akaashi sees them approach, he pushes off the bark, stormy teal eyes widening just a fraction when landing on Koutarou.

 

“We finally found you,” Kuroo says, smirk in its rightful place.

 

Akaashi slowly turns his head to him. “Yes. Well done.”

 

The loss of eye contact snaps Koutarou out of his daze and he steps forward, grinning. “Akaashi! Nice to see you again.”

 

Akaashi is grabbing part of the blanket, helping Oikawa place it on the ground, but he glances over. “You too, Bokuto-san.”

 

Kuroo comes back into Koutarou's space, staring at him with a look _so knowing_ , that Koutarou wants to run away. “Trust me now?”

 

A heat crawls up the back of his neck. “Shut up, Tetsu.”

 

“Come on, bro, don't be that way. I did you a favor.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, going to sit next to Akaashi. Kuroo laughs, taking his spot beside Oikawa. “Akaashi, I didn’t know you were coming!”

 

Musing, Akaashi slides his glance to the chuckling couple. “Kuroo called me this morning. I would rather be painting, but he insisted.”

 

A flustered appreciation for his friend settles in Koutarou’s chest. “What is it you’re working on, anyways?”

 

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see.” Akaashi reaches and grabs a rice ball in each hand, something playful glinting in his eyes.  

 

“ _Akaashi!”_

 

A silence hangs over them as they eat. The only thing that disrupts it is Kuroo and Oikawa bickering about anything and sharing an occasional kiss. They're sitting with arms around each other, legs tangled together, and noses touching, only pulling away to make a snarky remark. Koutarou chooses to ignore them, watching with growing amazement as Akaashi eats one thing after another.

 

Before he can stop himself, Koutarou blurts, “You eat a lot.”

 

“Please finish eating before speaking, Bokuto-san,” he replies through a sigh.

 

“There's really no point, Akaashi,” Kuroo says. “Bo’s a lost cause.”

 

“Kou-kun has no respect for those around him.”

 

“Guys,” Koutarou groans. “You're supposed to be my friends.”

 

“We are, Kou-kun! As your friends, we recognize your flaws.”

 

“And we're entitled to give you shit.”

 

“Wow. Thanks. I feel the love.”

 

Akaashi snorts, wiping his hands on his pants. “If that's the case, Oikawa, Kuroo, then should I mention how poor in taste it is to be so cuddled up in public?”

 

Koutarou laughs as they both yell in response: “Aka-chan is just jealous!” “You need to get laid, my man.”

 

Shaking his head, Akaashi reaches into his bag, rummaging around until he pulls out a sketchbook and pencils of various sizes.

 

Koutarou instantly perks up. “You're gonna draw?”

 

Akaashi doesn't respond, flipping past filled pages that Koutarou wishes he could admire, before settling on a blank one. He turns slightly, angling himself to look straight at the tree he'd been leaning on before.

 

Koutarou's eyes follow his every movement. The way he glances up for a few seconds before looking back down, hands brushing across the parchment in rapid, precise flicks. It settles into a rhythm, more captivating than when he did Kuroo's tattoo, and Koutarou barely registers his friends excusing themselves.

 

Akaashi looks up again, something glinting in his eyes, as a breeze passes through, ruffling his curls, and Koutarou's camera clicks before he can think to stop himself.

 

At the sound, Akaashi stills, blinks a few times, and turns to him. “Bokuto-san?”

 

“Ah! Sorry, I didn't mean--you just looked so focused and--”

 

“Can I see?”

 

“What?”

 

“Your camera.” Akaashi sets his sketch into his lap, reaches a hand out lazily. “Can I look at that picture? And maybe some of your others?”

 

On instinct, Koutarou tightens his grip, bringing the camera closer to his chest. “Uh…”

 

“I'll be careful, I promise.” There's a soft grin on his face, almost nostalgic. “I understand how important it is to you.”

 

Everything in Koutarou tells him to hold onto his camera. He rarely even lets Kuroo hold it and he's known him for most his life. But there's something so earnest in Akaashi's expression, something so gentle in his voice, that Koutarou slowly takes the strap from his neck and places the camera in the outstretched palm.

 

Akaashi cradles it, long fingers holding it delicately, like glass. He presses buttons with no prompting from Koutarou, pulling up the pictures.

 

“Did you used to do photography?” He asks.

 

Akaashi muses, moving through pictures, face not betraying any emotion. “No. My ex-boyfriend picked it up as a hobby and I helped him sometimes.”

 

“Oh.” Koutarou licks dry lips. “Ex-boyfriend?”

 

“Yes. I'm gay. Is that a problem?” He lifts his face up, eyebrow cocked, smirking as if he already knows the answer.

 

“No!” _Quite the opposite, actually._ “Not at all!”

 

A soft chuckle passes through his lips, the most beautiful sound Koutarou has ever heard, before he continues going through the photographs.

 

Koutarou taps his fingers on his leg, wishing he'd brought his pen and notebook. The younger man looks at his camera silently and Koutarou's nerves have never been higher. Usually, he doesn't show his raw work to people like this. Usually, his hands are the only ones even _touching_ his camera. Usually, he's more reserved with his passion.

 

He's quickly discovering that normalcy has no place when Akaashi Keiji is concerned.

 

When Kuroo and Oikawa come back, fingers laced, Kuroo takes a look at Akaashi with Koutarou’s camera, and his eyes nearly fall out of their sockets.

 

*

  _Mid May  
_

 

Koutarou walks with a bounce in his step.

 

Spring is just beginning to roll into summer and his equipment bags only add to the heat, but he's in too good a mood to care much.

 

He just got a manuscript approved, sold some photographs, has been talking to Akaashi every day, and is now on his way to do a job for the tattoo parlor. Apparently, when Akaashi told his boss and friend about Koutarou, the man nearly begged Koutarou to come and take pictures for them. They've been needing help with publicity lately, but everyone else is too expensive.

 

Not only does he get to spend hours behind the lens, but Akaashi will be there too.

 

The bell chimes when he walks in and Akaashi lifts his head from the papers on the counter with a grin. “Hello, Bokuto-san.”

 

“Hey, 'Kaashi!”

 

Sandy blonde hair pops out from around the back corner. “Is this him?”

 

“Yes,” Akaashi answers, righting himself. “Konoha Akinori, this is Bokuto Koutarou.”

 

“Ah, nice to meet you, Bokuto-san. Keiji's told me a lot about you.”

 

He takes the smiling mans hand and shakes it. “Likewise, Konoha. Though, I can't say I know anything about you.”

 

“Oh ho?” The man glances at Akaashi. “Am I not worthy enough for Keiji to speak of me to others?”

 

“Aki, stop it.”

 

Konoha waggles his eyebrows, receiving a glare in response. He laughs and turns back to Koutarou. “I'm just finishing up some paperwork for you, so I'll be back in a moment. Keiji, keep him company, would you?”

 

Koutarou gives Konoha a big smile as the man walks away. When he looks at Alaashi again, he notices the artist wearing short sleeved V-neck, exposing more tattoos than before. Trailing down from his left shoulder is half a pair of wings, feathers flying from it, some of them reaching under his sleeve, where Koutarou can see the ink continue across his collarbones.

 

“That’s a cool tattoo,” He says. “I’ve always thought it’d be cool to have wings on my back.”

 

“I’m not surprised,” Akaashi smiles at him and starts fiddling with his fingers. “I’d, uh, be happy to do your tattoo, if you ever decide to get one.”

 

There’s a splash of pink on Akaashi’s cheeks and Koutarou feels his stomach flip. “I’d love that, Akaashi.”

 

His grin widens, exposing teeth. “I finished that painting, by the way.”

 

“Really? Can I see it?”

 

Nodding, Akaashi bites his lips and turns away. “We just hung it this morning.”

 

After setting his things down, Koutarou follows him to the back of the shop, near where “Golden Evening” is. Now that he isn’t focused on that painting, Koutarou notices how this back wall is lined with framed paintings, empty near the end. It’s almost as if the space is reserved for Akaashi. He figures it might be, given the owner is his best friend.

 

“It’s this one.”

 

Koutarou sweeps his gaze over, seeing Akaashi shift his weight nervously, and his eyes widen when they fall on the canvas. Yellow eyes are the first thing he notices, staring at him, as if seeing straight through his soul. His breath catches. It’s a great horned owl, standing proudly on a branch, surrounded by bright green leaves, a hint of a blue sky poking through. It looks so real, Koutarou almost thinks he took the picture himself, but he can just barely make out the individual brushstrokes.

 

“Wow,” He breathes.

 

“Do you like it?”

 

“ _Akaashi_ ,” He turns to him, meets teal eyes. “This is beautiful. I don’t think I have the words to describe it.”

 

“Some writer you are.” He remarks, but there’s still an anxious aura clinging to him.

 

“Akaashi, really, this is my new favorite painting ever.”

 

Flushing, Akaashi turns his face away, bringing his hands up towards his chest, still twisting them. Koutarou’s eyes narrow. “Hey, wait.” He grabs one of his hands, causing Akaashi to starlte and whip his head back over. Koutarou looks at the fingertips, seeing tears in the skin and light bruising. “Akaashi…”

 

“It’s nothing,” He says. “Just a habit.”

 

“Your hands are important, though. You shouldn’t abuse them. You need them to continue making such breathtaking art.”

 

“I know, but--”

 

“No buts! When you’re frustrated at a piece, paint on scrap paper. When you’re nervous, play with a pen. It’s not your fingers fault. They’re trying their hardest.”

 

Akaashi’s mouth falls open, eyes staring into Koutarou’s with mixed emotions. He looks about to say something when Konoha’s voice calls out, “I’m ready!” followed by footsteps.

 

Akaashi pulls away fast, bringing a hand to his face and turning away. Konoha notices, giving Koutarou a sly. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?”

 

“Nothing,” The artist responds before Koutarou gets a chance.

 

Konoha chuckles, throws an arm around Koutarou’s shoulders. “Right. Let’s get started then!”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer is for warmth, togetherness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally did it
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to Dawn, who always manages to make me soft, even when we only talk for 5 min (curse timezones) 
> 
> There are some things that need to be worked out still, I'm sure, but I edited it as much as I could. Hope you enjoy!

_ Mid June  _

 

Keiji is done for.

 

The door chimes and he looks up, trying to keep his face from falling when he sees who it is. Given the smirk on Kuroo’s face, he fails. “Hello, Kuroo. What are you doing here?” 

 

“What, expecting someone else?” 

 

_ Tch,  _ Keiji clicks his tongue, looking to the side. Yes, Bokuto often stops by with random stories of his day, with pictures to show Keiji, and sometimes he drags Keiji out for coffee. And yes, Keiji does get that fluttering sensation in his gut everytime the door opens or his phone buzzes.

But that isn’t something he has to admit out loud, especially to Kuroo. 

 

“Just a customer,” He says. “What do you want?” 

 

An exaggerated sigh comes from the man. “And here I am, coming in to bless your life.”

 

Keiji turns back to him then, noting the widening smirk on Kuroo’s face. “Is that so?”  

 

Something glints in Kuroo’s eyes as he lifts two books in his hand. He waves them in front of Keiji’s face like a taunt, fast enough to blur the titles. Everything Kuroo does is done with flair, a way of garnering for a reaction. He and Oikawa are much like toddlers in that respect, Keiji thinks, and he almost admires how they can be so dramatic but genuine at the same time.

 

That doesn’t mean he has to play into it, though, so he simply raises one brow. 

 

“You’re really no fun,” Kuroo huffs, placing the books down on the counter. “Take a look yourself, then.” 

 

Keiji tries to stay composed, he really does, but he is completely, one hundred percent done for and when he sees the name on the cover, he gapes. One is smaller, a collection of poems, the other thick and filled with characters. “These are--” 

 

“Bo’s books, yes. His next one comes out in a few months, so I figured you’d need to get started.”   

 

Keiji’s hands are shaking slightly as he peels one of the covers open. There, in big, messy handwriting, is a message:  _ To my best bro: You’re sort of an ass, but thank you for everything,  _ followed by a sloppy heart and signature. Keiji can’t stop the soft chuckle that falls from his lips. It is so like Bokuto that Keiji can hear him saying it. 

 

“I bet you’re glad to see me now.” 

 

Schooling his expression, Keiji looks back up, staring blankly at the mirthful face. “Not really. You can leave now.” 

 

“I'm hurt,  _ Kei-kun.” _

 

Keiji's brow twitches. “Is there anything else you need,  _ Tetsu-chan? _ ”

 

Kuroo, winks, turns away with a hand raised. “Just thank me when you get to page 125.”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Keiji watches as Kuroo lifts a lazy hand in farewell, turning away. He waits until the laughter fades behind the closed door before lifting the book again. Keiji briefly considers the possibility of Kuroo messing with him, but curiosity wins out and he opens to page 125. There, a piece of paper is tucked. On it, is a phone number.

 

Keiji beams,  _ completely done for.  _

 

*

 

It’s half past two in the morning when Keiji closes the book. 

 

He stares at his wall for a few seconds, processing. Once he shakes himself out of his daze, Keiji reaches for his phone. He dials the newly inputted number and waits. 

 

It only rings twice. “Hello?” The voice is sleepy, confused..

 

Keiji ignores the fluttering in his chest. “Bokuto-san, how dare you?”

 

“I--who--” A yawn interrupts the sputtering and Keiji huffs out a laugh. “Akaashi?”

 

“Yes,” he breathes. “How dare you?” 

 

There’s a short span of time where Keiji hears the shuffling of sheets, a sigh, what he assumes is Bokuto opening his mouth and trying to make words, before, “Akaashi?” 

 

He chuckles softly. “Yes, we established that.” 

 

“You--How--”

 

“Kuroo gave me your books and number.” 

 

“And you...stayed up all night? And read them?”

 

“Yes.”

 

There’s a stretch of silence, before a short, surprised laugh escapes Bokuto’s chest. When he speaks, his voice is sharp with bewilderment, just barely blanketing the grogginess. “Wow, I don’t know what to say. I’m honored.” 

 

A grin pulls at Keiji’s lips. It’s nice to talk to Bokuto this way, versus just through a quiet screen. Sometimes, when he hasn’t seen Bokuto in a couple days, Keiji can almost forget how endearing he is. 

 

_ Almost.  _

 

__ “Well, Bokuto-san, I’m upset.” 

 

A musing sound comes through with slight static. “Why’s that?” 

 

Keiji opens his mouth but shuts it almost immediately. Where does he even start? Bokuto’s writing was so poetic with a flow that gets you to the end before you realize it, but it was full of so much  _ pain _ . The story was beautiful, but Keiji is left with questions, about the characters and the author. The characters went through so much, travelled to so many places, and in the end--

 

“‘Kaashi?”

 

The nickname snaps him out of his thoughts. “They deserved better.” 

 

A lazy laugh tumbles from Bokuto’s lips. “Trust me, I know.” 

 

“Then why--”

 

“‘Kaashi, have you ever been faced with an impossible decision?”

 

Taken aback, Keiji leans back slowly, head resting on the wall, and stares up at his ceiling. “I think everyone probably has.” 

 

“Right. Right, yes, exactly. So imagine you’re faced with the choice to bring someone happiness, but at the risk of your own? Or, you can make yourself happy, at the cost of their happiness? Sometimes, none of the choices have good endings, you know? And sometimes, even if the decision would leave everyone happy, you’re not sure you are enough to accomplish it. And--”

 

“Bokuto-san,” he says, because Bokuto is rambling and his words are speeding up by the second, making Keiji dizzy. 

 

“Ah, sorry, sorry,” Bokuto takes a big breath. “My point is, sometimes you have to hurt others for the sake of your happiness.”  

 

“So...you killed them to make yourself happy?” 

 

“Well, when you put it that way…”

 

Bokuto laughs and Keiji can picture the head throwing back, the eyes squeezing shut. Something in his chest stirs. He licks dry lips, swallows. “Why did you do it, Bokuto-san?” 

 

It’s silent for so long, Keiji pulls the phone away from his ear to make sure the call is still connected. Finally, “Sometimes, Akaashi, even the best of us don’t get the happy ending we deserve.” 

 

“Bok--”

 

“Ah, sorry, sorry.” He laughs again, loud as always, before a yawn breaks it. “I’m fine, really. Just stating facts. So? Did you like it?”

 

Keiji pauses. He isn’t sure how close to consider the two of them, isn’t sure if pressing would be pushing any boundaries. Though, he supposes he did call Bokuto at almost three in the morning. Still, he moves on. “Yes, of course. It was beautiful. How do you do that?” 

 

“Lots of pain and dedication.”

 

Keiji lets out a small laugh. “Sounds like painting.” 

 

Bokuto chuckles, sighs before launching into a ramble. Something about how art is the truest form of pain and vice versa and how art flows much like a river, swift and strong and sometimes overflowing. How sometimes all you can do is bleed on the page and hope for the best. The words start to blur together in Keiji’s brain, despite how desperately he tries to piece them together. His eyes are heavy and they fall, open, fall again. 

 

After a while, Keiji thinks he hears Bokuto call his name, pause, laugh, wish him sweet dreams. 

 

Keiji dreams of Bokuto snoring on his shoulder.   

 

*

 

_ Early July   _

 

When the door chime first rings, Keiji doesn’t look up. 

 

He’s focused on the mandala design blooming on his customer’s shoulder. It’s almost done, just a few more parts to shade, a couple small details to add. The customer has only winced a couple times, able to keep up conversation and crack a few jokes. Keiji has actually liked the company and he’s happy with how the piece is turning out. 

 

But when Konoha yells, “oh, hey, Bokuto!” Keiji whips his head around, needle hovering over the customer’s skin.

 

Bokuto stands in front of the counter, a hand lifted in greeted, a smile on his lips. Though, when Keiji looks carefully, it’s a little strained. It doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and the gold of them is muted. 

 

It’s been a couple days since they met up to talk about Bokuto’s books. Keiji had asked if Bokuto really was alright. He can still remember the sheepish way Bokuto had rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I promise I’m okay. Usually. I just have a lot of thoughts and sometimes I just can’t stop them from spilling out and--” Bokuto cut himself off with a short laugh. “See? Like that. But usually I’m fine. We all have our days, don’t we?”

 

Keiji had hummed in response, taking a long drag of coffee before saying anything. “I suppose you’re right.”  

 

Bokuto had looked at him then, staring intently, before glancing away. He had looked about to say something when their waiter came back to take their food order. 

 

Now, Bokuto catches Keiji’s eye. “Ah, ‘Kaashi. I’ll just, uh, wait for you.” 

 

Keiji straightens slightly, offers a smile grin. “You can rest in the other booth, if you’d like.” 

 

Bokuto’s eyes soften slightly and his grin turns a little more blissful. Keiji tries to tell himself that it has nothing to do with him, that Bokuto is just happy to be able to rest, but he can’t keep himself from hoping. Once Bokuto is settled and Konoha is striding over to talk to him, Keiji turns back to his work. 

 

It’s probably another half hour before Keiji is pulling away, putting his needle away. Another twenty minutes before all the paperwork and aftercare is gone over and he finally has his payment and can walk over to to the other booth. 

 

Konoha slides him a look as he approaches, which Keiji pointedly ignores and looks at Bokuto instead. “Nice to see you, Bokuto-san.” 

 

A soft grin tugs at Bokuto’s lips, just barely crinkling his eyes. He sits up a bit, pats some extra space on the chair. When Keiji just raises a brow, Bokuto rolls his eyes. “Don’t be coy. Just sit, please.” 

When Bokuto is around, Keiji swears there has to be strings attached to his mouth, continually pulling his lips into a smile he can’t force down. “I would never dream of being coy,” he says, but he does sit next to him. 

 

Konoha laughs. “You don’t have to dream it, Keiji, it’s your entire life.”

 

“Aki, kindly shut up.” 

 

“Yes, yes, so sorry to embarrass you.” Konoha rolls his eyes, stands from his stool. “Anyways. There are no more appointments today, so I'm going to head home. Close up in an hour if no one else comes in, alright?”

 

“Sure thing, Aki.”

 

“Thanks, Keiji!” Konoha sends one last glance at Bokuto, a flicker of worry, before smirking at Keiji. “Don't have too much fun.”

 

Bokuto just grunts, a response that makes Keiji's throat tighten up, kills the retort on his tongue. “Say hi to Mari for me.”

 

“Will do! She’s been asking for you to come by for dinner soon, too.” 

 

“Just tell me when.”

 

Konoha flashes a grin and turns away. “Maybe Bokuto could come, too.” 

 

Keiji sends him a glare, knowing full well that even if he can’t see it, Konoha is aware. The man laughs and walks into the backroom, leaving Keiji with an all too quiet and still Bokuto.

 

They sit in silence as Konoha walks around and gathers his things. Keiji fiddles with his fingers, picks at some dead skin, but then Bokuto is putting one calloused hard over his. The front door closes, leaving them alone, and Keiji glances over, trying to ignore how the warmth travels from his fingers up to his face.

 

“What's wrong, Bokuto-san?”

 

Letting out a sigh, Bokuto sits up, sets his head onto Keiji's shoulder, in the crook of his neck. “It's just one of those days, you know? Emotions come and go like the tides and sometimes they just come onto your shore and create a puddle in the sand, sticking around for longer than they should.”

 

Keiji hums. Trying to not jostle Bokuto, he reaches forward to grab a pen off the workstation. “You know what I think?”

 

Bokuto makes a sound in the back of his throat. Keiji waits to reply. Waits until the pen is uncapped and he pulls one of Bokuto's arms over and presses the ink to it.

 

“I think that instead of being the shore, you  _ are _ the ocean. You're strong and beautiful but there are lots of mysteries inside you and sometimes they show their faces in not so great ways.”

 

Bokuto lifts his head, looking at Keiji with his mouth hanging open. Keiji doesn't return the look, just stares down at Bokuto's muscular arm as he draws wave after wave and seashells and starfish on his tanned skin.

 

“You think I'm beautiful?”

 

Keiji's hand stills for a second. “Mmm. I do.”

 

Bokuto stares for a moment longer before chuckling, setting his head back down. “You're beautiful, too, Akaashi. Like the night sky.”

 

It takes a lot to make Keiji blush. It takes a lot to make his heart rate pick up, to make get his mind in disarray.

 

But with Bokuto involved, his emotions are put on overdrive easily.

 

“Thank you,” he breathes.

 

Bokuto sighs again, his breath fanning over Keiji's neck. “Even your drawing is nice. Do you intend to turn my entire arm into an ocean?”

 

“Do you intend to turn my shoulder into a pillow?”

 

“Touche.” Bokuto has turned so that when he speaks, laughs, breathes, Keiji feels the warmth spread over his skin. It leaves him with goosebumps and causes him to mess up a couple lines. 

 

A comfortable silence washes over them. Keiji moves them around a bit for access to more skin to draw on, but Bokuto’s head never leaves Keiji’s shoulder. There’s a moment where Keiji spies one tear falling down Bokuto’s cheek. He wipes it away, ruffles Bokuto’s hair, and adds a sun over the water on his arm. Bokuto’s face softens after that, his breathing evens out.

 

“You’re not asleep, are you?” 

 

“Nah.” Bokuto lifts his head, gives Keiji a genuine smile. “Hey, thanks, Akaashi.”

 

“What for, Bokuto-san?”

 

“For today.”

 

“I didn’t do anything.” 

 

“You existed.” 

  
  


*

 

_ Late July   _

 

The brush glides across the canvas. 

 

It’s second nature to Keiji. He doesn’t even realize when he lifts the brush, dabs it, changes the angle. It all happens without him thinking twice. His eyes only flicker away for brief moments to dip brushes into paint. 

 

The music he put on all but fades away as Keiji is surrounded by blues and beige. All that's missing is the bright pop of purple. The color is premixed, the perfect combination of red and blue and he smiles, dipping his brush into his water cup, reaching for his tea. As soon as he takes a sip, Keiji nearly spits it out, scowls, snapping back to reality. He frowns at the muddled water he holds, glancing at the brush sticking out of his mug. 

 

Letting out a sigh, Keiji places the cup down. He grabs the brush, dries it in his shirt, rolls his shoulders. The bitter taste of paint clings to his tongue but he can't get up now, can't allow himself to be completely pulled out of the world he's creating. 

 

Keiji coats the bristles in purple, steadies his hand, and brings it up to the canvas. The color explodes against the other subdued hues on the canvas. He can all but hear the waves as they caresses the starfish, all but hear the creature as it tries to move away from the shore, back to its home. 

 

Keiji is under sunlight, sand between his toes, watching as water kisses and then leaves the starfish, the blue washes over him, a cool reprieve. Barely aware of even his own movements, Keiji doesn’t hear his phone ringing until it’s almost too late. 

 

Shaking his head, Keiji snaps back to his room. He sighs, setting down his brush and hitting the green button without looking at the screen. “Hello?” 

 

“Akaashi!”

 

A warm feeling spreads through Keiji at the voice. He leans back in the chair, letting out a content hum, knowing that his lips are tugging upwards without permission. “Hello, Bokuto-san.” 

 

There is a short shuffling sound on the other line. “What’re you up to?” 

 

Keiji raises a brow before remembering he can’t be seen. “Just painting. What are you doing?”  

 

“Painting? What’re you working on? I’m doing nothing, really, just--” A crash, followed by distant cursing. 

 

Keiji stifles a laugh. “Bokuto-san?” 

 

A heavy, muffled sigh comes through. “Tooru is trying to make lunch.” 

 

A puff of air passes Keiji’s lips, almost a scoff. “I get the feeling it isn’t going well.” 

 

“No, it’s--” There’s another loud profanity, and Keiji can picture Bokuto wincing. “It’s a disaster, really. But Tetsu and him some dumb argument that turned into a challenge, so I’m not allowed to help.”

 

“That doesn’t surprise me.” 

 

“Yeah, they’re idiots. Anyway,” Bokuto chuckles, sounding like he’s walking somewhere. “That isn’t why I called.” 

 

“No? You didn’t call just to tell me that Oikawa is bad at cooking?” 

 

“ _ Akaashi _ , please.” 

 

There’s a  _ hmph  _ sound and Keiji can’t quite tell if it’s Bokuto pouting, or throwing himself on his bed. Could be both. The image makes him laugh. “Yes, Bokuto-san?” 

 

Bokuto huffs. “Listen okay?” A pause. “Okay?” 

 

Keiji’s lips twitch and he has to hold back more laughter. “I’m listening.” 

 

“I, uh, was wondering…” Another moment of silence, a clearing of his throat. “If you have a weekend free anytime soon?” 

 

Forget butterflies, Keiji’s eyes snap open as a parliament of owls surges through his stomach. He takes the art supplies from his lap and places them on the ground, standing and walking to his kitchen, then turning and going to his bedroom. “I’m sure I could ask for some time off.” Keiji bounces his leg bites at his thumbnail. “Did you have something in mind?” 

 

There’s a quick movement on Bokuto’s side, a brief floundering of words. “I, uh, yeah! There’s this really cool beach that has a two mile hike leading to it, and, uh, I was wondering if you’d wanna go?”

 

Keiji hopes that Bokuto cannot hear how his breath catches, how his heart skips a beat. Every inch of his being is tingling, warm, so very elated that he stills. 

 

After a minute, Bokuto quietly calls out his name in question. Keiji can't keep his face from splitting into a wide grin and he shades his eyes with his hand, leaning on his desk. He's glad no one can see him because his face has got to be at least thirty different shades of red.

 

“I would love to go.” Keiji doesn't even try to cover up how breathless he sounds. “How about next weekend?”

 

*

 

_ Early August _

 

Keiji is  _ tired _ .

 

It isn't that he's out of shape, quite the opposite, really, but Bokuto is a force to be reckoned with. They're about halfway through the uphill hike, and Bokuto is still thrumming with energy. He stops every half minute to take pictures: of flowers, of roots tangled in the dirt, of bugs perched on blades of grass. He finds beauty in every single thing they come across and, “Akaashi, look! If you take a picture from this angle, isn't it hard to guess what it is? And--wow!--do you see that? Do you see how the sun filters through the branches?” He has even given Keiji permission to use any of his photographs as reference for paintings. 

 

The more he talks, the more Keiji's heart softens, but he knows he's entering dangerous territory when Bokuto brushes against him to point or show him a picture. It's entirely too hot out and they both wear a sheen layer of sweat, but Keiji cannot help but miss the contact when Bokuto pulls away.

 

The only time Bokuto is quiet or still is when he is taking a picture, either crouching or reaching, and the camera is right against his face. He becomes a statue, the only part of Bokuto that moves is his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, just before his finger presses the button and captures his shot. It's a rare sight, to see him not twitching, not making too much noise, and Keiji finds it, like many things related to Bokuto, horribly endearing

 

This hike, with all the reminders of how gone Keiji is, might cause his death.

 

“'Kaashi!” Bokuto holds his camera him one hand, waves to Keiji with the other, as if he isn't just two steps away. “Let's stop for a sec and eat!”

 

They're at a small clearing, just enough room to pull off to the side without being in the way of fellow hikers. A log rests there, just big enough for them to sit with food spread between them.

 

Keiji hands Bokuto the bag from his own shoulders. Bokuto had insisted on taking  care of everything, even packing both of their backpacks for them. The one Bokuto wears is bulging and Keiji isn't sure how someone can hike with  _ so much _ baggage. 

 

Keiji is surprised when he sees how much food Bokuto is pulling out of the bag he was carrying. Of course his bag is full of nearly nothing but food. “You really cooked up a feast, didn't you, Bokuto-san?”

 

Bokuto's grip falters ever so slightly, nearly dumping rice balls on the ground. He's turned away, and Keiji can peek red on his neck. “Well… I wasn't totally sure what you liked, and when I asked Konoha, he just laughed and told me not to worry, so…”

 

Fighting a grin off his face is nearly impossible as Keiji feels that surge in his stomach again. “So you cooked some of everything you could think of?”

 

Bokuto turns to him then, wearing a sheepish grin, eyes squinted closed. “Yeah, better safe than sorry, ya know?”

Keiji's heart clenches and it takes everything he has to remember to breathe..

 

Sweeping his arms out, Bokuto says, “ta-da!” 

 

Keiji swallows thickly. “Thank you, Bokuto-san.” 

 

They eat in relative silence. The food is incredible and Bokuto blushes when told so. Bokuto happily greets everyone that passes and soon enough, they’re packing it back up and walking again. Every half minute, Bokuto still stops, takes pictures, rambles about it to Keiji, and then they’re off again. The pictures increase in quantity as they get closer to the end, where the ocean is visible from different outlooks and small moments between trees. It makes the hike much longer than it should, but Keiji can’t even find it in him to be annoyed by it. 

 

When they stand at the top of a steep, steep hill, Bokuto turns and smiles. “This is the last part!” 

 

Keiji blinks at him. Looks back at the decline. Back to Bokuto. “You’re saying… we have to hike down this?” 

 

“It’s not as bad as it looks, I swear! Just hold onto this rope they have here.”

 

“Right.” Keiji eyes the flimsy rope going down the slope and takes a deep breath. 

 

Bokuto shifts beside him, seems to hesitate. “I’ll catch you if you fall, Keiji,” he finally says, reaching and grabbing one of Keiji’s hand. 

 

Keiji chokes on air but Bokuto is tugging him along before he can respond. Stumbling forward, Keiji catches the exposed skin on Bokuto’s neck, seeing it scarlet. He tries not to dwell much on it, to mind his footing, but it’s hard when his entire being has been set aflame. He feels light but far too conscious of himself all at once.

 

The hand that holds his is steady, perks of belonging to a photographer, but Keiji feels calluses on it, a roughness he never expects. Sometimes he forgets that everyone, even Bokuto, who is sunshine itself, has some edges to them. Bokuto’s grip tightens every time Keiji falters slightly, or curses, or hesitates in his next step. Bokuto keeps his eyes forward, but he is clearly attuned to Keiji’s every movement. 

 

Even when they reach the bottom, Bokuto doesn’t let go of Keiji’s hand. He simply pulls Keiji to his side and takes a deep breath. “Isn’t it beautiful?” 

 

“Yes,” Keiji breathes, but he’s looking at Bokuto. The setting sun is painting his face an orange hue, making his eyes glow amber. The dying light accentuates the small, white scar on his chin that Bokuto once told Keiji he got from jumping off a swing from too high. A breeze comes up from the crashing waves, rustling two toned hair, making it look like a flickering flame. The smile on Bokuto’s face is full of bliss and awe and wonder. “It really is.” 

 

Bokuto makes to look at him, and Keiji finally turns away before he can get caught. Before them, the ocean is a triad of colors, reflecting the darkening sky. Waves connect with the shore, recede, come back. Every time, without fail, the water comes back to the shore, as if it is their soulmate and they cannot bear to to be apart. Sometimes, it comes back strong and tall, but other times, the waves are small, pittering out before the end. Keiji thinks it is much like how one might return home to their lover. A mountain looms to their right, towering rocks dot the skyline. Just in front of their feet, the sand starts. A few tents are popped up already and Keiji  spots a handful of people, some with legs hanging out of tent openings, and others taking strolls on the shoreline. 

 

“Is there any better inspiration?” 

 

Keiji only turns when the warm hand slips from his. As he watches Bokuto lift his camera, Keiji finds an answer easily, “I’m sure there is.”

*

When he woke up the next morning, Keiji was warm.

 

After many pictures and stargazing last night, they had set up their small tent, looked through Bokuto's camera, talked about nothing, and fell asleep. And as sunlight began to filter through the canvas, Keiji found himself huddled at the edge of it. A hand was pressed against his back and when he rolled over, Keiji found Bokuto spread out, taking up the entire space.

 

It hadn't taken much to get Bokuto up, since he's usually an early riser. Keiji, on the other hand, struggled to drag himself out of his makeshift bed.

 

He found that the sunrise and Bokuto's enthusiasm was worth it.

 

Now, after spending hours in the water, Bokuto insists, “C’mon, 'Kaashi! We can't  _ not _ build a sandcastle before we leave; We're at the ocean!” Bokuto's arms move when he speaks with such energy and Keiji's eyes follow the movement. He blames the sun, and how it makes the water curling around the muscles glisten and catch his eyes.

 

“Okay, Bokuto-san. So long as we're back before sundown.”

 

“Of course we will be! Have I ever failed you before.”

 

Keiji raises a brow in lieu of answering, which draws a whine out of Bokuto. Chuckling, Keiji kneels down next to him. “Do we even have buckets or shovels?”

 

Bokuto pouts. “Well….no.”

 

“Then how do you suggest we go about this?”

 

“I dunno! We can just shape it with our hands, can't we? We're both artists, afterall.”

 

Keiji blinks, once. Twice. Then, he can't stop the laugh that crawls from his chest. “Well, you're not wrong.”

 

Bokuto laughs too, gives him a wide smile, and Keiji can't say no even if he wanted to.

 

“You see,” Bokuto says, cupping sand in his hands. “We are all much like these grains of sand. Sometimes, others take us for granted, walk all over us. That shapes us, in an unfavorable way. But other times,” Bokuto's expression turns soft as he sets the sand on another pile, shapes it into a proper mound. “Other times, people lend us a hand and guide us, stick with us like wet sand. And they help us turn into something better, a collective of small parts that becomes so much more.”

 

Keiji stills, stares that man next to him. It's an impulse, a thought that isn't even finished, when he says, “Koutarou. Call me by name again.”

 

Bokuto snaps his head up, wide eyes of melted gold. “Akaa-- Keiji?”

 

For once in his life, Keiji throws caution to the wind and follows the pull in his gut. He surges forward, grabs Bokuto's face, and kisses him. 

 

Or, he intends to kiss him. Keiji misses, just barely, and his lips land sloppily against the corner of Bokuto's mouth. He pulls away just as fast as he leaned in. “I'm so sor--”

 

But Bokuto grabs his hands, pulls him back, and gives Keiji a proper kiss.

 

*

 

“--up!  _ Keiji! _ ”

 

Before his eyes even open, Keiji is batting a hand at the force shaking him. He grumbles something, but it’s nonsensical. If Konoha actually used his spare key to get in, Keiji knows that he’s late for work. Today, he is just so tired that he can’t bring himself to care much, so he rolls away. 

 

“Keiji, get up, or so help me, I will drag your ass out of bed.” 

 

Keiji groans, opens his eyes slowly against the light. “What time is it?” His words are slurred and he rubs at his face, sitting up. 

 

Konoha is fighting down a grin. “It’s half past ten. We need to go open up the shop.” 

 

Sighing, Keiji lazily crawls out of bed. A pile of clothes rests near his door, the laundry he finished after the hike but could not get himself to put away. He begins sifting through it when he hears Konoha snicker. 

 

“My, my, Keiji. What a mess. I take it you had a good weekend.” 

 

Keiji pauses momentarily to throw a glare at his friend. “I did have a good weekend, Aki, but please, keep your mind out of the gutter.” 

 

“Ah, so not good enough?” 

 

Keiji throws a bundle of socks at him. “Please stop talking and get out.” 

 

“Fine, fine,” He laughs. “I’ll grab you something to eat real quick.” 

 

Keiji dresses and washes up quickly. They’re going to open a bit late today, he realizes, and hopes there are no appointments or walk ins planned for first thing. His fingers twitch, though, telling him that despite wanting to sleep all day, he has been away from the tattoo needle for too long. 

 

Before walking out into his hallway, Keiji grabs his phone. It is already filled with messages from Bokuto and he grins.

 

From: Bokuto Koutarou 

_ 6:03am  _

Good morning! I hope you’re sleeping well. I’m about to go on my run, but I’ll stop by your work later too, okay? :D

_ 7:30am _

__ ‘Kaashi, look at this flower!

_ 8:12am  _

__ Anyways, do you ever think about how the ocean and the stars are constants in the ever changing world? 

_ 8:20am _

__ Like they’re always there and we can admire them at anytime even though we are in different places, always changing, never rooted where we began. 

_ 8:25am _

__ Okay, I guess you can’t look at the stars anytime since they aren’t visible during the day. 

_ 9:00am _

__ Have a good day at work! I’ll see you later :) 

 

“Messages from the boyfriend?” 

 

Keiji meets Konoha’s gaze to retort that, no, Bokuto isn’t his boyfriend, but he stops short. Are they dating now? They had been so wrapped up in bliss and getting hime that they hadn't really talked about what happens next. His phone vibrates in his hand before he can think of an answer, an e-mail from his local art newsletter. 

 

**Coming in January, a new art exhibit: “Where do you find inspiration?” We are accepting applications now through October 15th. Those selected will be notified by November 11th. Details on how to apply and guidelines will be sent in a separate message shortly. We look forward to seeing your work!**

 

**** “What's that?” Konoha asks. “You’re making a strange face.” 

 

“A new art exhibit.” He can feel rather than see Konoha’s excitement as his friend comes closer. “The theme is where one finds inspiration.” 

 

“You going to true and get in? Do you know what you would paint?” 

 

His phone buzzes once again, and every part of him softens at it. 

From: Bokuto Koutarou 

_ 10:49am _

__ Hey, hey, hey, aren’t you up yet? I miss you.

 

“Yeah,” Keiji says, smiling wide. “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout out to Bee, always, for reading as I go and helping me along my way
> 
> As always, let me know what you thought, and I'll see you next time!
> 
> Feel free to yell with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/akaashiswhore)


	3. a note

hello everyone

i just wanted to write this, rather than leave you all hanging, but i have decided to discontinue this work. it didn't turn out as planned and now whenever i think about it, it just stresses me out, and i have bigger and better things I'd like to focus on. thank you for showing this au so much love. you can find me on tweeter if you want to ask how it was meant to go, if you'd like

I'm sorry but thank you for understanding and i hope you'll continue to support me and future works

much love <3

**Author's Note:**

> This will be 4 chapters, but it may become a collection cuz i love this au with my whole heart and have a million hc's for it.
> 
> Thanks for reading, Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think
> 
> Shout out to Akaashi gc always and forever, for helping and dealing with my shit all days of the week
> 
> yell with me about volleyboys on [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/akaashiswhore)


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